by Lily Baxter
‘That leaves us and the turkey, darling,’ Marianne said, filling her cup with coffee. ‘Algy invited me to stay with his family in Buckinghamshire, but I couldn’t face it.’
‘He seems keen on you,’ Elsie said cautiously. ‘Don’t you like him?’
‘Oh, he’s fun and good-looking, but it’s never been serious. Not on my part. Now if Henri had asked me to spend Christmas in Paris I’d have swum the Channel to get there, but I haven’t heard from him since he left.’
‘You’re very fond of Henri, aren’t you?’
‘Of course I am. I told you, Elsie, we’re like brother and sister. I adore his parents but there’s nothing serious between Henri and me.’
Elsie was not sure she believed her. She rose to her feet. ‘Violet has the day off, so perhaps I’d better clear the table.’
‘You’re a guest here, but since you’ve offered, thanks.’ Marianne reached for her handbag and took out a silver cigarette case. ‘With Felicia away it’s all right to smoke in the dining room. She says it puts her off her food.’ She selected a cigarette and lit it with a match, inhaling with a satisfied smile. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t got a present for you, Elsie, because I had no idea we’d be spending Christmas marooned in this flat like pirates on an atoll.’
‘That’s all right, Marianne. I haven’t got one for you because I’m a bit short of the rent money this week.’
Marianne stared at her through a haze of smoke. ‘Really? I don’t know how the landlady has the gall to charge rent for that dreadful attic. How much do you need?’
‘No, really. Thank you, but I’ll manage somehow.’ Elsie began stacking the plates.
‘Nonsense. Call it a loan, or perhaps it can be the Christmas present I neglected to buy. How much?’
‘Five shillings,’ Elsie whispered. ‘I had to buy some stockings and have my boots repaired. I’m not normally so extravagant.’
Marianne took out her purse. ‘Good God, I don’t call that being extravagant. You must be working for next to nothing.’
‘I’m doing something for other people. It’s a charity and I’m lucky to get anything at all.’
‘You’re being exploited,’ Marianne said, taking another puff on her cigarette. ‘It’s slave labour, if you ask me.’
‘I’m not complaining and I enjoy helping the refugees. I’m glad to do something to help win the war, even if it’s only in a small way.’
Marianne leaned back in her chair, staring at Elsie as if seeing her for the first time. ‘I’m not sure if you’re heading for sainthood or if you’re a gullible fool.’
This made Elsie laugh and she tossed a table napkin at Marianne. ‘I’m neither, and it wouldn’t hurt you to help out. Poor Mrs Beale is slaving away in the kitchen just so that you and I can gorge ourselves on turkey and the trimmings. I think she needs a break as much as anyone.’
‘Oh my God,’ Marianne said, rolling her eyes. ‘You’re not going to make me give my Christmas lunch to the poor like Marmee in Little Women, are you?’
‘Don’t tell me you actually read the book?’
‘My governess adored it and insisted on reading it to me.’ Marianne stubbed her cigarette out on a saucer. ‘I’ll make sure the next maid puts an ashtray on the table, just until Felicia returns, of course.’ She took two half-crowns from her purse and laid them on the table. ‘Merry Christmas, Elsie.’
Elsie smiled and pocketed the coins. ‘Thanks. I promise I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.’
Despite her initial refusal to help in any way, Marianne relented when the festive meal was served and insisted that Mrs Beale should join them in the dining room. She plied her with sherry and wine and when the pudding had been flamed, served and eaten, she told her to take the rest of the day off.
‘You’re not going to leave me with the washing-up, are you?’ Elsie demanded.
‘Actually, I’m not such a heartless bitch,’ Marianne said, laughing. She rose to her feet and rolled up her sleeves. ‘I’ll wash, you can wipe.’ She leaned over Mrs Beale who was suspiciously red in the face and seemed to be having difficulty in keeping her eyes open. ‘Mrs Beale, I think a nap would be beneficial, and don’t worry about preparing supper. We’ll help ourselves. There’s plenty left.’
Mrs Beale staggered to her feet. ‘Thank you, Miss Marianne. It’s been very enjoyable.’ She teetered towards the door and Elsie rushed over to open it for her.
‘Can you manage?’
‘Thank you, miss. I’m perfectly capable of getting to my room unaided. Merry Christmas.’ Mrs Beale marched out of the room, swaying a little, but keeping her head held high. ‘I can manage perfectly well.’
‘Come on then,’ Marianne said, pulling a face. ‘Let’s get this over and then we can sit down and relax, although I don’t know what we’ll do for the rest of the day. I’m beginning to wish that I’d joined Algy in Bedfordshire, no offence meant, Elsie. But I was never one for purely female company, as you might have guessed.’
‘We could always go for a walk,’ Elsie suggested eagerly. ‘Maybe we could go to Hyde Park or Kensington Gardens.’
‘Walk?’ Marianne glanced down at her high-heeled shoes. ‘In this weather? Are you completely mad?’
They spent the next half hour in the kitchen, tackling the washing up. Marianne did her best, although Elsie had to slip the occasional piece of crockery back into the hot water to make sure that it was clean, but when it came to the roasting tin and saucepans Marianne gave up. ‘My hands are raw,’ she complained. ‘I can’t imagine how anyone could do this day in and day out. I need a sit down, a cup of coffee and a cigarette. Leave the rest, Elsie. Violet can do it tomorrow.’
‘You’ve done your bit. Go and sit down and I’ll make the coffee.’
‘You are multi-talented, darling. I love you.’ Marianne breezed out of the kitchen, leaving Elsie to finish cleaning the pots and pans. She could not simply walk away and leave the detritus for Violet to find in the morning, and her conscience would not allow her to leave the kitchen in anything but a pristine state. She made coffee and took a tray into the drawing room.
Marianne looked up and smiled. ‘You took your time. I suppose you stayed like a good little slavey and left the kitchen spotless.’
Elsie put the tray down and poured the coffee. ‘Of course.’ She grinned. ‘I wish that Phyllis and Nancy could have seen you washing dishes. They wouldn’t have believed their eyes.’
‘Well it won’t happen again, Elsie. I’m not the domesticated kind. When I decide to marry it will be a man who can keep me in the way to which I am accustomed, as the saying goes. I don’t believe in love in a garret. No sugar, darling, and just a dash of milk.’
Elsie placed the cup of coffee on an occasional table beside Marianne’s chair. ‘I’m very grateful for everything, but I’m going back to my lodgings tomorrow. I have to work.’
‘You did say that, but surely they won’t expect you to work on Boxing Day?’
‘I volunteered a week or so ago. I didn’t know I’d be spending Christmas with you, and anyway, I don’t want to outstay my welcome. You and Anthea have been marvellous, but it’s time for me to go.’
Marianne leaned forward in her chair. ‘You could stay here, you know.’
‘Me? Stay here?’
‘That’s what I said. To be honest, Elsie, with Violet leaving us in the lurch like this, Anthea and I are going to find it very hard to manage.’
‘But you’re going to advertise in The Lady.’
‘I rang an employment agency and they told me that young women no longer want to work in service.’
Elsie sat down, holding her cup of coffee with both hands. ‘Are you offering me a job?’
‘No, of course not.’ Marianne shook her head vehemently. ‘We’ll all have to do our bit, I know that. While this beastly war goes on we’ll all have to pull our weight, but Anthea and I haven’t a clue how to do the simplest things. We’ve been utterly spoilt all our lives, I acknowledge that freely,
and the fact is that we need you to show us the way. Besides which, I enjoy your company. Do say you will, Elsie. Please.’
Chapter Seven
HE WAS THE last person she was expecting to see. Elsie had just returned from the East End after a long day sorting out the problems of some of the refugee families, and it was a shock to walk into the drawing room in Cromwell Road to find Guy Gifford standing with his back to the fireplace, even though no one had thought to light the fire and the temperature in the room was only a few degrees above that outside. ‘Elsie. It’s good to see you again.’ He took a step towards her with his arm outstretched and then hesitated, dropping his hand to his side. ‘I would have come sooner, but we had a bit of a crisis at work.’
‘I’ve been busy too.’ Elsie glanced at Marianne who was huddled in a chair, shivering. ‘Why didn’t anyone light the fire?’
Marianne wrapped her cardigan around her slender body. ‘Thank goodness you’re home, darling. I can’t get the beastly thing to light. I’ve used up a whole box of matches but it just belches smoke at me and goes out again.’
‘I offered to have a go,’ Guy said hastily. ‘But Marianne seems to think I’m fairly useless at anything practical.’
‘And you are.’ Marianne tossed her head. ‘You can’t even sharpen a pencil at work without breaking the lead.’ She turned to Elsie with a persuasive smile. ‘When you’ve had time to take your coat and hat off, would you light the fire? I’d have asked Mrs Beale but I gave her a couple of days off to visit her daughter in Croydon. Anthea is out with Tubby and I was going to make Guy a cup of tea but the milk’s off, so we had to make do with gin and tonic.’
‘I could go down to the cellar and fetch some more coal,’ Guy volunteered as Elsie peeled off her gloves.
‘It’s all right, Guy,’ Marianne said firmly. ‘Bailey does that sort of thing, or he sends his son to do it for him.’ She reached for her glass. ‘We were thinking about going out for lunch, Elsie, but now you’re here perhaps you could rustle something up in the kitchen. I’m sure Mrs Beale must have left the larder packed with food.’
‘I suggested we grab a sandwich,’ Guy said with a hint of a smile. ‘But Marianne said she hasn’t quite mastered the art of making one, and she has the nerve to criticise me.’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’ Suddenly everything was back to normal. Elsie knelt down in front of the grate and began clearing the mess that Marianne had created. In minutes she had flames licking up the chimney, igniting the soot on the fireback so that it sparkled like tiny glow worms before dying away. She added the coal piece by piece, and when she was certain that it would not go out she scrambled to her feet. ‘There, it’s not so difficult.’
‘For you, maybe,’ Marianne said, sighing. ‘Heaven knows, I’ve tried to follow your example, but I don’t seem to have any talent for domesticity.’ She glanced at Guy and shook her head. ‘Don’t give me that look. I know you think I’m useless, but I have my good points and both Anthea and I love having Elsie here with us. We don’t take advantage of her good nature.’
‘Of course you don’t,’ Elsie said without giving Guy a chance to defend himself. ‘I had to move out of Clay Street anyway because Rosemary’s sister was ill, and she felt she ought to move to Woodford to help look after her little ones. Anyway, Mrs Crabtree had somebody lined up to take the room.’
‘A good thing too,’ Marianne said firmly. ‘You should have seen it, Guy. I don’t know how the landlady had the nerve to charge anyone to live in such squalor.’ She stretched out her hands to the fire. ‘You’re a wonder, Elsie. I thought we’d go out and eat later, but I’d kill for a sandwich or something to keep me going.’
Elsie exchanged amused glances with Guy. ‘Can I get you something? It’s no trouble.’
‘Thanks, but you must allow me to help you.’
‘No, Guy,’ Marianne said firmly. ‘You can’t leave me in suspense. Please take a seat and tell me more about this work that I’m to train for.’ She looked up at Elsie and grinned. ‘I’m one of the chosen ones, Elsie. What do you think about that?’
‘Chosen for what?’
‘I’m going to be a spy. Isn’t that exciting?’
‘A spy? You’re joking.’
Guy moved to the sofa and sat down. ‘It’s hush-hush. You won’t breathe a word of this to anyone, Elsie.’
‘Of course not, but it sounds really dangerous. What must she do?’
‘I won’t know until I’ve done my training,’ Marianne said, sipping her drink. ‘But I expect I’ll be sent behind German lines. I rather fancy myself as a femme fatale.’
‘The work of the Secret Service Bureau really is top secret,’ Guy said with a wry smile. ‘Marianne has been picked because of her excellent command of French, but I can’t tell you anything more than that because that isn’t my job.’
‘Isn’t it thrilling?’ Marianne held her empty glass out to Guy. ‘A refill would be nice, and I rather fancy a chicken sandwich. Mrs Beale cooked one before she left for the suburbs. You’d better examine it carefully though, Elsie. It might have gone off.’
Elsie left the room, mulling over the prospect of Marianne risking her life by joining the secret service, of which she knew virtually nothing. She had read books about spies, but they had all been men and she could not imagine how a woman, especially one like Marianne, would fit into such a role. She went to the kitchen and examined the chicken. ‘It’s definitely off,’ she said when she returned to the drawing room moments later. ‘The bread is stale, the milk is sour and the cheese is wearing a blue fur coat.’
Guy stood up, brushing the creases down in his pin-stripe suit. ‘Then may I suggest we go out now? It would be my pleasure to treat you both.’
Marianne began her job in the New Year. She was sent to the Admiralty in Whitehall where she was to work in the department of cryptanalysis, known as Room 40. ‘It’s all top secret, Elsie,’ she said cheerfully at the end of the first week in her new position. ‘But I’m working with several other girls and we’re situated in the same corridor as the boardroom and the First Sea Lord’s office. I can’t tell you details, of course, but it’s all to do with decoding messages sent by the German navy. It’s much more interesting than working as a secretary in the War Office. Anyway, I was a lousy typist and couldn’t always decipher my own writing. I think they were glad to get rid of me.’
Elsie found herself wishing that she could do something more exciting than her new job, which entailed teaching French to young soldiers, most of whom were more interested in asking her out to dinner or inviting her to a dance on a Saturday night than in learning the language. She was still involved with the Belgian refugees who were already settled in London, but the number of arrivals had slowed down dramatically as it became almost impossible for them to escape from their motherland, although a small number still managed to travel through neutral Holland. She spent as much of her free time as she could in Hackney, helping Joe Johnson and his wife to make the lives of those who were settled in London more bearable, and she was conscious of the fact that simply listening to what the displaced Belgians had to say was perhaps her most vital function.
As the weeks went by she saw more and more of Guy. He was the one person in whom she could confide when she found her work too onerous, or when she became too involved with a refugee family and needed to remain detached and professional. He was never judgemental and invariably came up with a solution that she might have missed. Their friendship deepened but she was uncomfortably aware that his feelings were much more involved than her own. She knew that he had fallen in love with her and she wished that she could respond, but Henri was never far from her thoughts and always in her heart. She knew she might never see him again, and when Marianne received a letter from Madame Bellaire telling her that he had enlisted, Elsie struggled to keep her emotions in check.
She tried to let Guy down gently, telling him that she did not want to get involved with anyone in such uncertain times, when any one
of them might be killed even though they were not directly involved in the war. Zeppelin attacks on the east coast had begun in January. Innocent civilians had been killed and injured. It was only a matter of time before the deadly airships made their silent way to London and caused even more damage and destruction. She explained at length, but Guy insisted that he was a patient man who was more than willing to remain her friend; living in hope but never pressing her for more than she was prepared to give. It was humbling and also rather frightening, but she had come to rely on him. He knew almost everything about her, apart from the secret love she kept locked away in her heart.
The misery of a wet winter gradually ended and a long-awaited spring arrived in London, heralded by the golden trumpets of daffodils in Kensington Gardens. Anthea was at home more often at the end of the working day as Tubby had enlisted in the Royal Flying Corps and was training at the School of Military Aeronautics near Reading. She was proud of him, of course, but also fearful for his safety as he had completed the necessary dual instruction time and was about to go solo. She joked about it, but Elsie noted the twin furrows of worry on Anthea’s previously smooth forehead, and the way her fingers shook as she lit yet another cigarette, and tried to make light of her worries. It was on such evenings when they gathered together to give mutual comfort and support while listening to the gramophone and enjoying the latest patriotic songs like ‘Keep the home fires burning’, and ‘Goodbye Dolly Gray’.
One evening when Anthea had been particularly depressed, having not heard from Tubby for almost a week, they were sitting in the drawing room after supper, which Marianne and Anthea had managed to cook with a limited amount of success.
‘Don’t grumble about the food,’ Marianne said severely. ‘There are shortages. I defy a French chef to produce a wonderful meal from the ingredients we had to hand.’